


The story of Ethel Collins

by Sharonneke95



Category: Original Work
Genre: Curiosity, Detective, Gen, Mystery, POV First Person, Possible Ghost Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharonneke95/pseuds/Sharonneke95
Summary: Ethel Collins, stage name  Willie Raymond, is a singer in one of the hottest jazz clubs in the 1920s. No one knows where she came from, no one knows where she goes when the show’s over. She just showed up at the club looking for work and became the headliner overnight. What’s her story?





	The story of Ethel Collins

**Author's Note:**

> From the writing prompt:  
> Ethel Collins, stage name Willie Raymond, is a singer in one of the hottest jazz clubs in the 1920s. No one knows where she came from, no one knows where she goes when the show’s over. She just showed up at the club looking for work and became the headliner overnight. What’s her story? 
> 
> I honestly have no idea anymore where this prompt came from. Something tumblr-ish, I'm guessing. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated!

“And you’re saying that’s her? That Willie Raymond person you’re talking about, she the same woman as Rae William, who’s been filling up our club for the past couple of weeks?” His look tells me he doesn’t believe a single word of what I’ve just told him. When I say so, he looks at me even weirder. “Really, Arya? And why do you think that is? You just said Willie Raymond worked her a century ago.” 

I sigh and drop back into the chair that’s across from him, feeling the need to smash my head into the desk in between us. “You can’t tell me it’s not suspicious. She refuses to give you her real name, comes here every night, just to sing, and then disappears back into the night when she’s worked off her repertoire. She refuses to practice with our musicians, leaving them to guess how each song will work on stage and hasn’t drunk even one glass of water.” 

Philip gives me an exasperated look. “Look, you believe all you want, but I don’t think ghosts are real. Rae is just a very dedicated, very good singer and just like all within that category, she’s eccentric. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some administration to finish. And I believe you still owe me an inventory report.” He quirks one eyebrow at me, his signature move, and turns back to his computer screen. 

I sigh once more before getting up and leaving the office. Inventory my ass. Time to sort through Google again. Surely, they know more about Rae. Or Willie. Or ghosts. 

\- 

“Come on, Google. Give me something,” I whisper hopefully at my screen. It blinks once, then twice, before turning completely black. I stare at the thing in disbelief. That’s exactly how Philip finds me a couple of minutes later. 

“Arya, you do realise that the inventory is not going to sort itself out, right?” He sounds incredulous as he comes to stand in front of me, one hand on his hip and his head tilted slightly sideways. “You’re not still working on that witch hunt of yours, are you?” 

I shrug his question off. “The computer died.” 

Philip shakes his head. “Why are you so obsessed about this? She’s just a good singer who holds some resemblance with some other singer from long ago. Why can it not be just that?” 

Frustrated, I get up. “I just feel there’s more to it than that! Their stories line up pretty well and it’s even the same club. Ghosts are known to stick-“ 

“Ghosts! Are you serious?” He throws his hands up just to show how ridiculous he thinks my story is. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose and continues in a voice that he only uses when he’s showing who actually is this club’s boss. “There’s a lot of work to do and you chasing myths is not going to help us get ready for tonight’s show. Go. Get the inventory checked. I’m not asking again.” 

Reluctantly I get up, grab my notepad and walk over to where we keep our stock. Just wait until I manage to reboot the computer. 

\- 

That night I watch Rae very closely from my place behind the bar. She sings the usual songs, throws in some specials, much to the chagrin of the band that is supposed to accompany her. Apparently, she hadn’t informed them they would be playing new songs tonight. Not that she has a problem with going acapella. 

By the end of that evening, my curiosity is killing me. I just can’t let it go. So, as she’s singing the last notes of the song she announced to be her last, I take over a tray with empty glasses and head towards the floor. 

I’ve only gathered two glasses when the lights on stage turn off. 

“Rae! Rae wait! Please!” I put down the tray and hurry towards the retreating singer. For a moment, I think she’ll pretend not to have heard me, but then she holds still. I hurry towards her. 

“Thank you,” I say to her. “I was wondering if I could ask a few questions.” 

I’m not even done talking or she’s shaking her head already. “Sorry, my child,” she says in this sing-song voice of hers. Her accent is very unfamiliar, but at the same time gives me nostalgic feelings. Is that another clue or just wishful thinking? Her accent is even more pronounced when she finishes her sentence. “I have to go.” 

All I have to do is blink and she’s gone. I scoff, but don’t try to follow. If my theory is correct, it’s not of any use anyway. 

\- 

The headlines fly on by as I scroll through the results Google gave me. All seem useless, but then I get a hit from a newspaper database. 

_Singer Ethel Collins disappears_

Scanning through the article, I find out that Willie Raymond was not the official name of the jazz singer that suddenly vanished after giving Philip’s club a month of success. Although it of course wasn’t Philip’s club back then. Apparently, it was a jazz club, belonging to Ethel’s grandfather and it had been about to close before she made it famous again. 

I rub my eyes, only to have them fall on the clock beside my bed. Time’s slipped far faster than I thought and I really should get to bed if I want to have any sleep before my alarm goes off. Then I notice the date. April 17. That’s in two days. Meaning she must have started singing in her grandfather’s club around the same date Rae started in Philip’s. That has got to mean something, right? 

I scroll further, my plans to sleep completely forgotten. 

\- 

I don’t manage to get Rae to stay the next day, my lack of sleep making me too slow to even catch her performance has ended before one of the musicians joins me at the bar. With a sigh, I surrender myself to another day of the mystery keeping me on edge. I really don’t do well with unsolved issues. 

It is well past midnight when I hear her start the last song and tell my colleagues that I will be taking a break. Instead of heading back, where we usually go during our breaks, I go towards the stage and wait for Rae to finish. 

Even before she has descended the couple of steps, I’m on her, blocking her only way out. 

“Rae, I really want to talk to you.” 

Once again, she shakes her head. “I must apologise, my love-“ 

I cut her short before she can tell me she has to go again. “Would you prefer it is I called you Willie? Or Ethel?” 

Her eyes widen ever so slightly and the corner of her mouth twitches a little upwards. 

“Why are you here?” I ask her. 

“Not very good at asking the right questions, darling. I’m here to sing, of course!” 

I wave her almost-sung answer away. “But why here?” 

That makes her smile even more teasing. “I quite like this club.” 

I notice how she suddenly seems to have forgotten she was in a hurry to go, but I’d rather not remind her. I’m too busy trying to finally formulate the question I had meant to ask, anyway. “Why return, after all these years?” 

She is quiet for a bit. “Curiosity is a strange thing, isn’t it? It never really dies, merely changes its focus. Might lay low for a while, but never really gone. Curiosity killed the cat…” 

“But satisfaction brought it back,” I finish without even thinking about it. I hate it when people misuse such sayings to make you feel stupid. But the knowing look Rae throws me tells me it wasn’t meant like that. 

The woman then somehow manages to get past me and I know that I have to ask one last question, right now, before she’s gone. “Do you believe in ghost stories?” 

She turns around and winks, before disappearing once more. 

-

And she does not return the next day. 


End file.
